


Cherries

by flawedamythyst



Series: Seduction By Winglet [16]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2018-11-12 05:04:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Bonus Ficlets for the Winglets 'verse.





	1. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets back from a shitty party to find Martin asleep on the sofa.
> 
> Schmoopy-as-fuck ficlet for Shawbatch on Twitter.

Martin had fallen asleep waiting up for him. Tony looked down at the way he'd slumped over the arm of the couch, the grip of his arms around the cushion he'd pulled to his chest, and sighed. Not for the first time, he wondered if maybe he shouldn't go the Howard Hughes route and just stop bothering with the stupid galas, awards ceremonies, parties and all the other bullshit that was expected of him as a billionaire.

“Hey, Spitfire,” he said, crouching by the couch and putting a hand on Martin's shoulder. “C'mon, you're gonna fuck your back up.”

Martin's eyes fluttered open, there was a moment while his brain came back online, then his face lit up with a smile and, damnit, how was that still the same smile he'd always had for Tony? How the hell had Tony managed to get through twelve years without fucking up enough to kill that smile?

“Good party?” asked Martin, blinking at him, and Tony couldn't keep himself from leaning in to kiss him. Seriously, how was he so lucky?

“Shit party,” he said. “Got cornered for thirty-eight minutes by a senator who wanted to talk about adapting some of the Avenger's weaponry for the military, which, no, no, nope, does he have any idea how expensive this shit is? Not to mention the amount of training you'd need? Basic would take about three years.”

Martin just blinked at him again, clearly not properly awake. “Did you give him the Stark-Industries-don't-make-weapons speech?” he asked.

Tony grinned. “I didn't need to, Pepper got it printed out on little cards for me.”

Martin uncurled enough to stretch, shoulders rolling back. “Should I have been there?” he asked in a mumble, then got the sudden, trapped look that meant he'd said more than he'd meant to.

Tony couldn't keep in his smile at the fact that Martin had even asked, and kissed him again. “No way,” he said. “Bad enough one of us had a shitty evening.”

Martin let out a contented sigh, his hand curling around the back of Tony's head and his fingers combing through his hair. Tony fucking loved the feeling of Martin stroking through his hair, so he moved closer to make sure he had all the access he might want.

“You're sure?” Martin asked. “Other spouses go.”

Tony waved that away as his hand found its way to Martin's shoulder, stroking over the sleep-warmed line of his arm. “Other spouses are only in it for the money or the fame,” he said. “You and me, we don't need to put on a show, because everything that's important is right here.”

And there it was, the moment of heart-stopping panic that he'd gone too far that he _still_ got, even after twelve years, a wedding ceremony, and not one single moment when Martin had been anything less than completely enthusiastic about loving him. At least Tony had now managed to get to a place where, when he felt it, he knew to just ride it out because there was no way in fuck that Martin was going to do anything other than what he was doing right now, which was smiling at Tony as if he was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

“Definitely,” said Martin, and pulled Tony close so that he could kiss him before patting at his shoulder. “Okay, bed then.”

And that was it. All Tony's stupid fears were once again laid to rest in the face of Martin's unswerving devotion. God, how had he got so lucky?

He kissed Martin again, then stood up to help him off the couch and sling an arm around his waist as they headed for their bedroom. After an evening of dealing with slimy politicians and smirking businessmen, getting to curl up around his husband and kiss him back to sleep was pretty much the perfect end.


	2. Ironing Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between Cruising Altitude and Duxford. Clint starts to get to know Martin.
> 
> Written for Scifrey on Twitter.

Martin had been to stay at the Tower often enough for him to be a familiar sight to Clint, but he hadn’t spoken to him much. He and Tony spent most of their time together locked away in either the bedroom or the workshop, only really emerging to grab food and gave the rest of the team smug, post-coital grins. Well, Tony did anyway, Martin mostly looked panicked. Clint had been waiting for him to get used to being around superheroes so that he could have a real conversation with the guy and find out what he was actually like, but that was taking a lot longer than he’d have expected.

One morning, a few months after Tony had come back from Mafikeng with a bounce in his step and a sudden fascination with a tiny British charter airline, Clint was flat out on a sofa in the main lounge. He was watching cartoons with the sandy-eyed stare of the extremely jetlagged, having only got back from a two week mission in Iran that completely messed up his sleeping patterns the night before.

Martin came down the stairs from the floor Tony’s bedroom was on and it took Clint a few seconds to pull himself together enough to look over at him.

Martin stopped dead, about three steps from the bottom when he realised Clint was there. “Oh! Um. Good morning.”

Clint managed a vague wave at him. “Don’t ask me for conversation, man, I’m dead.”

Martin continued down the stairs. “I don’t- I was just going to use the ironing board.” He was only in a t-shirt and his uniform pants, and was carrying his shirt in his hand. 

“We have an ironing board?” asked Clint, incredulously.

Martin huffed a laugh. “That’s exactly what Tony said.” He went to a cupboard that Clint had looked in the first day he’d moved here, registered it as a cleaning cupboard with no tactical purpose, and never looked at again. Martin pulled out an ironing board that he put up with the ease of practice, then pulled out an iron before shutting the cupboard. Clint watched, vaguely fascinated.

“Hey, JARVIS, other than Martin, has anyone ever used that?”

“No, Agent Barton,” said JARVIS.

Clint snorted. “Seriously, not even Steve?”

“Captain Rogers has his own ironing equipment in his rooms,” said JARVIS.

“Of course he fucking does,” said Clint. Captain America existed to make everyone else feel like a lazy slob. Eh, if Clint wasn’t in his tactical gear, he was in a t-shirt and sweatpants; what would be the point of an iron?

“Spitfire!” There was a clatter of feet and Tony came storming down the stairs in just his sleep pants and an open robe. Clint rolled his head back towards the TV so as to avoid watching the inevitable over-the-top kiss as he greeted Martin. Pretty much any time those two were separated for more than half an hour, they indulged in a crazy amount of PDAs instead of just saying, ‘hey’.

On screen, _Scooby Doo_ had become _Spongebob Squarepants_ while he’d been talking to Martin. Clint made a face. He fucking hated _Spongebob_.

“You just keep abandoning me for ironing, I can’t believe I come second to your shirts,” said Tony.

“You don’t, I just need to get it done before I leave,” said Martin. “I thought I’d get it out of the way while you were sleeping.”

Tony huffed a sigh. “Yeah, never seems to quite work like that, does it, Spitfire?”

“Maybe you should just keep the ironing board in your room, if Martin’s the only one who ever uses it?” said Clint, flicking the TV off and pulling himself upright with great effort. That way, he wouldn’t have to deal with all this romance first thing in the morning.

Tony looked at him as if he’d suggested they replace all the technology in the tower with clockwork. “Oh, hell no, I’m Tony Stark, I don’t have _ironing boards_ in my bedroom, I have expensive whiskey and silk robes and flavoured lube and all that shit. C’mon, seriously, do I seem like the kind of guy who interacts with ironing boards? _Ironing boards_?”

Clint glanced at Martin. “What does the kind of guy who interacts with ironing boards look like?”

Martin’s eyes widened as he realised he was being dragged into this but he managed a shrug. “Well-pressed?” he suggested, and Clint couldn’t keep in a laugh at the unexpected show of sassiness.

Tony spluttered at him for a moment. “Well-pressed? _Well-pressed_? Who the hell do you know who is better pressed than me? I am incredibly well-pressed, I wow onlookers every time I go out, I will not have you casting aspersions on my levels of pressedness.”

Martin gave a little shrug. “Well, if you wanted to make sure of that, maybe you should give ironing a try.”

“If you can get Tony Stark to iron your shirt, I will give you anything you want,” said Clint. He couldn’t even picture it. He’d seen Norse Gods and aliens and an entire colony of merfolk, but some things were completely unimaginable.

Martin darted a glance at him. “I kinda want some coffee,” he said slowly, as if testing the waters on how much Clint would let him get away with in the name of banter.

“I am not doing any ironing,” said Tony, holding his hands up. “I’ve never ironed in my life, I’m not going to start now.” He didn’t sound as confident as he usually did though, as if he knew that it wouldn’t take much for Martin to persuade him.

Clint raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Martin. “I’ll put the coffee machine on,” he said, and headed for the kitchen. “Make me proud, Crieff!” he called over his shoulder.

Behind him, he could hear Tony continuing to protest. “Seriously, Spitfire, I’m not going to-”

He was cut off by the sound of a kiss, and Clint grinned to himself. Yeah, he was definitely going to need to make Martin coffee.

“JARVIS?” he said, once he’d put the coffee machine on. “Can you make sure you get a photo of Tony ironing? No way Natasha’s gonna believe me about this.”

“I already have one,” said JARVIS. “I was keeping it for my private records, but I’ll make it available to you.”

“Wait, he’s already doing it?” asked Clint, darting back out to look through the doorway.

Tony was staring down at Martin’s shirt with the iron gripped in one hand while Martin hovered behind him, one hand on his shoulder as he gave instructions.

“Fucking fantastic!” Clint called over to them, and got a quick smile from Martin before he turned his attention back to Tony. Yeah, okay, Clint would probably keep a close eye on Tony and an iron if he only had one shirt with him too.

He went back into the kitchen, fixed both him and Martin mugs of coffee and took them out to the lounge.

“Okay, now you just go around the collar,” Martin was saying.

Clint handed him the coffee and earned himself a wide, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said Clint. “Anyone who can turn Tony domestic has earned their coffee.”

“Wait, where’s mine?” asked Tony. Clint just gave him a smug grin and took a sip.

“You can share mine once you’ve finished,” said Martin, and then his eyes dropped back to what Tony was doing. “Wait, no, oh god, what are you doing?” he said as the smell of scorched material began to fill the room.

Tony lifted the iron back and stared down at the shirt. “Huh. Guess you’re gonna have to let me buy you a new one as an apology.”

Martin made a face, as if the idea of a billionaire buying him a shirt was somehow unpleasant. “Fine,” he said. “But you’re not getting any of my coffee now.”

Tony gaped at him with shocked upset, and Clint laughed. Okay, he liked this guy. It seemed that working to get him out of his shell as worth it, he’d have to keep doing that.


	3. The Road Not Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Theresa runs into Martin and Tony at an aviation show. Set in the first year of their marriage.
> 
> Written for @MASHFanficChick on LJ.

“Mr and Mr Stark-Crieff,” said Theresa, and smiled to herself as Martin jumped with surprise.

Tony turned around with one of his media smiles on, which grew genuine when he saw who it was. “Princess! Fancy meeting you here.”

“I’m playing hooky from being royalty,” she said, glancing around the aeronautical trade show to make sure he hadn’t been heard. She was enjoying just being another aviation buff, without all the drama that people seemed to think a princess needed. “You know, I’m not at all surprised to see you here.”

Martin had finally managed to tear his eyes away from the plane in front of them in order to look at her. “Did you see the Harrier stand?” he asked, excitedly.

Theresa didn’t bother suppressing her smile at his enthusiasm. It was so refreshing to see someone who genuinely loved something as much as Martin loved planes, and who didn’t bother prevaricating about it.

“Oh yes.” She glanced at Tony, who was giving her a knowing look. She carefully ignored it. “I hear the Stark Industries area is also particularly exciting this year.”

“Isn’t it always?” asked Tony, grinning smugly. He tucked an arm around Martin’s waist pointedly. “And we came in the quinjet, so that’s out on the tarmac if you wanted a look.”

“Do I get a private tour?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Martin. “You have to see the changes Tony made to the steering column.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that Tony enjoys playing with columns,” said Theresa, which earned her a moment of confusion from Martin, followed by a bright blush when he realised what she meant.

Tony laughed. “Oh yeah, that’s true. Especially the one on the _Martin_ Quinjet.”

Martin’s blush deepened and he turned his face to rest on Tony’s shoulder to hide it. Theresa and Tony exchanged amused looks.

“I don’t know why you’re both so horrible to me,” said Martin.

Tony patted his head. “It’s out of love, Spitfire,” he said. Martin lifted his head and for a moment they shared a look that made Theresa feel horribly like a third wheel.

It wasn’t that she had some deep and melodramatic unrequited love for Martin, or that she lay awake at night pining for him, it was just that when they were in the same place, she remembered how much she enjoyed being around him, teasing him until he blushed or letting him talk about planes until his eyes were lit up with enthusiasm. And the realisation always came with a faint sense of pique, because she was reasonably certain that if Tony hadn’t been in the picture, Martin would have been at Carl’s party at the Taj Mahal as her date.

“Okay, let’s go show off my genius,” said Tony, dragging his gaze away from Martin to look at her. Somehow, he managed to look even smugger than before.

Theresa supposed she couldn’t begrudge him that. He had married the guy, after all. She stepped forward and put her arm through Martin’s. “Lead on, then. I want to admire this column you’re so proud of.”

“You’re going to love it,” said Martin. “It handles perfectly, so smoothly.”

“It just glides through your hands,” agreed Tony, sending a wink at Theresa over Martin’s head.

“And how does it handle a sudden lift?” asked Theresa. “Does it get up fast?”

Martin caught on to the innuendo and groaned. “I don’t think I like it when you two are around each other.”

Tony and Theresa exchanged a look and she wondered if Tony was thinking the same thing as her, because for a beautiful second she’d had a shockingly clear vision of all three of them together in bed and the fun they could have.

Except, once it was over, she’d be the one getting up and leaving them to it and she wasn’t sure she could be as casual about sex as that role would call for.

Tony patted Martin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Spitfire, I promise we’ll behave.”

Theresa met his eye one last time, then looked away to where she could see the quinjet parked, putting those thoughts out of her head. “Have you changed the shape of the vertical stabiliser?”

That started Tony off on a long ramble about aerodynamic forces, as Theresa had known it would, wiping away the brief moment and making things feel far more familiar. Theresa nodded along, even through the bits that made no sense to her, and watched Martin’s face as he listened to Tony, lit up with love and pride. There wasn’t a place for her there, she needed to remember that.


	4. Level Five Clearance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of the time, Jessie doesn't think much about the fact that she works with Iron Man's husband. Sometimes, though, it gets brought home to her just how few degrees of separation there are between her and the Avengers.

Jessie knew something bad was about to happen to Iron Man a few seconds before it came on the news broadcast, because she saw Martin's face change. 

Whenever they were grounded because of an incident, Martin put in one earphone and listened along to the Avengers comms. There was a delay on the news broadcast that meant whatever he heard was a few seconds ahead of the action on screen, so Jessie had got in the habit of keeping an eye on his expression so she knew when Hawkeye was about to throw himself off something, or there was going to be a particularly good explosion.

This time, Martin’s face went white and he let out a pained whimper as if he had been the one hurt, and she knew it was bad.

On screen, the giant AIM cyborg punched a fist right into Iron Man’s chest, making the light of the arc reactor flicker, and then grabbed him by an arm and flung him through a wall into a building.

Most of the other Avengers immediately congregated, throwing all the fire power they had at the cyborg, but Jessie saw Falcon dart through the hole Iron Man had crashed through.

“Tony,” breathed Martin.

Shit, this was bad.

“Hey, he’ll be okay,” said Jessie. “He’s all wrapped up in armour, right?”

Martin shook his head, pressing the earphone closer to his ear. “Sam’s saying he’s unconscious. He-"

He cut himself off and Jessie looked back at the T.V. just in time to see the cyborg blow up, sending scrap metal raining down on the street. Captain America crouched down next to Black Widow, holding his shield over both their heads, while Winter Soldier pushed Hawkeye down as if intending to protect him just with his body. She guessed it would be easier for a super-soldier to heal if he got hit than a normal person.

Falcon flew back out of the building before the wreckage had fully settled with a limp figure in his arms. It took Jessie a moment to realise it was Tony without his suit on.

“He’s taking him straight to the medbay at the Tower,” said Martin in a strangled voice. Jessie glanced over to see he was gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.

“Okay,” she said, getting up. “Come on, I’ll drive you over.”

Martin stared at her. “What?”

“You’re in no fit state to drive yourself,” Jessie pointed out, grabbing her coat.

Martin drew in a deep breath and his eyes flicked over to Nadine. “We’ve got another-” he started, but she cut him off.

“Martin, I really hope you’re not about to imply I’d make an employee stay on at work when their spouse was injured,” said Nadine. “We can reschedule the tour, just go.”

Martin stood up, but it didn’t look as if he was firing on full capacity, so Jessie put a hand on his shoulder to guide him out to her car. God, she really hoped that the traffic was light. It usually was during an Avengers incident, because everyone tended to just hole up wherever they were.

Once they’d started moving, Martin drew in a deep breath, then fumbled with his phone. “JARVIS,” he said, “can you tell the others that I’m on my way to the Tower?”

“Of course,” said his phone in a posh British voice. For obvious reasons, Martin’s phones were always the very latest Starktech, usually not even available in the shops yet. Jessie glanced over at it, wondering if that was some kind of new AI feature, or something Avengers specific.

“Do...do you know how he is?” Martin added.

There was a telling pause before the phone responded. “Mr Stark-Crieff is currently still unconscious. Doctor Cho is examining him.”

“Right,” said Martin. “Okay, right. That’s- Okay. Tell me if anything...if anything changes?”

“Of course,” said the phone.

Martin let out a long breath, then curled right over, bringing his knees up to rest his forehead on. It probably wasn’t a particularly safe position while they were driving, but Jessie didn’t say anything. She just put the gas down a bit harder, thinking that Tony could afford to pay any speeding tickets she got.

And if he wasn’t in a position to do so then, well. Paying a fine was going to be the least of everyone’s problems.

****

Martin directed Jessie around to a hidden entrance to Avengers Tower which opened as they approached it. Inside was a small parking lot, filled with a handful of very nice cars and a couple of motorbikes. One of them had a white star painted on it and Jessie realised this must be the Avengers private parking lot.

Okay, right. She could do this. She’d been to the Tower before, after all. Only for Martin’s wedding, but still. She’d danced with a minor X-Man at the reception, after they’d cleared up the mess left from Doom’s attack, she could definitely cope with this.

Martin got out the car with jerky movements, still looking like he could keel over at any moment. Jessie followed him out because it was pretty clear he was going to need some support.

“Hey, which way?” she asked, taking his elbow to keep him upright. 

Martin nodded at an elevator door. “That stops at the medbay,” he said, so she walked him over to it. He put his hand against the door and it lit up around his hand print, then slid open.

“Medical level, JARVIS,” said Martin as they went inside.

“I’m afraid that’s a restricted level,” said the British voice. Okay, apparently that was an Avenger thing, not a Starkphone thing.

It was so very easy for Jessie to forget that all this kind of thing was a huge part of Martin’s life. She sat in a tiny plane with him three or four times a day, drank coffee with him on their breaks, listened to him fuss over every aspect of their plane, and mostly thought of him as a hapless nerd. Even when he was talking about his husband, the things he said never really matched up with the popular image of Tony Stark-Crieff, so it was easy to not bother trying to reconcile them.

Every so often, though, Jessie got hit all over again by the realisation that Martin’s life contained all these things like restricted levels and elevators that talked.

“Oh, right,” said Martin. “Can you give Jessie clearance? I trust her.”

There was a pause, then the voice said, “Security levels for Jessica Gail Knight upgraded to Level Five,” and the doors slid shut.

“Level Five?” said Jessie. “Jesus, don’t you have to do some kind of background check or something?”

“Exhaustive checks were carried out before Captain Stark-Crieff started to work with you,” said the voice.

Martin sighed. “Of course they were,” he muttered, and glanced at her. “I’m sorry, Tony’s just a bit paranoid sometimes.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said. Madmen with tasers had turned up at their workplace to kidnap Martin, she could understand why his husband would insist on background checks for someone who went up in a small plane with him every day. She was just going to take a deep breath and not think about the fact that Tony Stark-Crieff probably knew all about her unpaid credit card bills and the time she got arrested in college and, oh god, probably all about her and Nick. 

The doors slid open to reveal a corridor that looked like it had been pulled from a sci-fi show’s medical area, all shining white walls and glass windows. Martin immediately rushed off down it, towards a room that seemed to have a lot of activity going on. People in scrubs were dashing in and out, and Falcon was standing outside it with his arms crossed, leaning against a wall.

“How is he?” Martin asked, and Falcon straightened up.

“They’re still examining him,” he said, putting a hand on Martin’s shoulder as he tried to go inside. “Just give them space. They’ll let us know as soon as they have something.”

Martin was looking over his shoulder through the door, where a figure could be seen in the bed, surrounded by machines and white-clad medical personnel.

“Oh god,” he whimpered, then abruptly his knees collapsed and Jessie grabbed for him at the same time as Falcon, carefully moving him over to fall into a chair. “Oh god, Tony,” muttered Martin, and put his face in his hands.

Falcon crouched down by him, rubbing a hand over his shoulder. He was still in his combat suit, although he seemed to have left the wings somewhere. Jessie told herself that that didn’t mean she should be starry-eyed about this whole thing. He was a real guy under all that superhero razzmatazz, and he was Martin’s friend.

“Hey, deep breaths,” he said to Martin. “You know the medical team are the best, they’ll be doing everything they can.”

Martin nodded, but he didn’t move his hands away from his face. Jessie sat in the chair next to him and put a hand on his back. “He’ll be okay,” she said. “He was wearing all that armour, right?”

Martin’s head came up with a sudden jerk. “His reactor, is his reactor okay?” He started to stand up. “I can get a replacement and change it, let me-”

Falcon pushed him back down into the chair. Sam. His name was Sam. things would be less weird if Jessie tried to remember that. “It’s fine,” he said. “We had JARVIS run a diagnostic, it’s running at a hundred percent. The damage was to the suit, not the reactor.”

Martin collapsed back down. “Oh, thank god,” he said. “I don’t...I hate having to do that.”

“I know,” said Sam, still stroking over Martin’s arm.

Jessie patted at Martin’s back and tried not to feel too useless. Should she be going now that she’d got Martin here to where the other Avengers could be there for him? Probably, but she couldn’t imagine leaving Martin right now, not when he looked like he was coming apart.

“Mr Wilson, Captain Rogers wishes me to inform you that the rest of the team are on the way back to the Tower,” said the British voice. “They will arrive in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay,” said Sam. “Tell Cap that Martin’s here, and we’re waiting on news. Anyone else get hurt?”

“Agent Barton suffered a cut to the head that he claims does not require medical attention,” said JARVIS. “There were no other major injuries.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, like Bucky’ll let him get away with that,” he said. “Hear that, Martin? You’re gonna have company in a minute. You’ll only be the second most panicked significant other in this place.”

Wait. Wait, was he saying that Bucky Barnes and Hawkeye were significant others? That was… Shit. That seemed like the kind of thing you’d need Level Five clearance to know. Jessie took a deep breath and told herself that she was up to keeping Avenger secrets. She’d told the journalists who had contacted her when she first started working with Martin, and again after he and Tony got married, to go fuck themselves, after all. She wasn’t about to betray anyone’s trust in her.

Martin let out a breath. “I don’t know, I’m pretty panicked,” he said. “Oh god, what if he’s not okay, Sam? What will I do?”

“Don’t think like that,” said Sam. “Just keep taking deep breaths and remember what a stubborn ass Tony is.”

A woman came out of the medical room. “Mr Stark-Crieff?”

Martin jumped up out of his seat. “How is he?”

“He’ll be okay,” she said, and Martin relaxed so suddenly that Jessie thought he was going to collapse back into the chair.

“Oh, thank god.”

“He has extensive bruising and a fractured fibula, but there was no significant internal damage,” she said. “He has a minor head injury that we will monitor, but I don’t think it will cause any problems.”

Martin was nodding on repeat, as if he’d got trapped in a loop. “Okay, okay. That’s- Well, that all sounds horrible, but as long as he’ll be okay.”

“We’re keeping him sedated for now,” said the doctor. “We’re going to set and cast his leg, then you can sit with him.”

“Okay,” said Martin, and took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him, then went back inside the room, and Martin sank back down into the chair.

“A broken leg,” said Sam. “Oh man, he’s going to be hell while that heals.”

The elevator doors pinged open and Captain America came striding out, followed by the Winter Soldier, who had a firm grip around Hawkeye’s bicep and was tugging him along after him. Jessie took a deep breath because, christ, how was she meant to cope with that?

“How is he?” demanded Captain America as soon as he was close enough.

“Fine,” said Sam, stepping away from Martin. “Bruising, broken leg, minor head injury. They’re keeping him sedated while they sort out his leg, but he’ll be fine after that.”

“Wow,” said Hawkeye, who had a cut above his left eye that was sluggishly bleeding, “that sounds like it needs all the medical staff, no point in wasting their time with anything else, I’ll just-”

The Winter Soldier tugged at his arm, keeping him from slipping off. “You’re going nowhere until someone has looked at your head.”

“You could look at my head,” countered Hawkeye. “In our rooms. And then you could look at my _other_ head…”

“Shut up,” growled the Winter Soldier.

Okay, wow, apparently they really were together. Jessie did her best not to look like she was freaking the fuck out, although it didn’t seem like anyone was paying any attention to her. The Winter Soldier bundled Hawkeye off into another examination room, and a moment later a man in scrubs followed them in.

Captain America crouched down next to Martin. “Hey, no need to look so worried. Tony’ll be fine.”

Martin managed a very weak smile. “How do you know I’m not worried about Clint?”

Captain America snorted. “I think Bucky is doing enough worrying for everyone on that front.” He looked at Jessie. “Hey, you’re Jessie, right? Martin’s tour guide?”

Oh god, Captain America knew her name. She tried to bring herself to think of him as Steve, but her brain whited out with the effort, so she gave up on doing more than nodding, probably a bit stupidly. “Yeah, good to meet you,” she managed.

“Thanks for driving him over,” said Captain America.

She shrugged. “I wasn’t about to let him drive himself.”

Captain America nodded, then stood up again, glancing at Sam. “We have to debrief. Are you coming?”

Sam looked at Martin. “Will you be okay if I go?” he asked.

Martin nodded a few too many times. “Sure.”

Sam’s gaze slide sideways to Jessie. “I’ll stay with him,” she said in response to the unasked question, and got a nod.

“Bucky!” Captain America called into the other examination room. “You’re not exempt from debrief! Get out here.”

“Clint’s hurt!” he got in reply and he rolled his eyes at Sam, who smirked back.

“He’s awake and bitching, which means he’s not nearly injured enough for a bedside watch,” he said.

A moment later, the Winter Soldier appeared out of the examination room with a glare. “He’ll escape.”

“No, he won’t,” said Captain America, “because if he does,” and he raised his voice so that Hawkeye would hear, “he’ll have to come to debrief.”

“Hey, I’m being good and letting them poke at me,” called back Hawkeye. “Go on, Buck. Tell ‘em all how badass you were.”

The Winter Soldier glanced back into the room with an exasperated expression, then followed Captain America and Sam back down to the elevator.

Jessie relaxed slightly and rubbed a hand over Martin’s back. “So, how long has that been going on for?” she asked, trying to distract him from staring at the door of Tony’s examination room and freaking out.

Martin glanced at her, looking completely clueless, then off after the Avengers. “Uh…” he started, then his eyes widened. “Oh! Bucky and Clint! That’s a secret, you can’t tell anyone. They don’t want people knowing.”

“I won’t say anything,” said Jessie. “Hey, I’m Level Five, right? Whatever that means.”

“It means you have access to the communal areas of the Tower, and some of the private areas if there’s someone with a higher clearance with you,” said Martin, rubbing at his face. He was starting to look a bit more composed, but Jessie figured it was better to try and keep him distracted by talking about other things.

“And you’re, what? Level One? Level Ten? Which way does it go?”

“Everyone who lives in the Tower is Level One,” said Martin. “Well, except Tony. He’s...I don’t know. The level beyond that.”

“Level Alpha,” said the British voice. “You are also Level Alpha, Captain Stark-Crieff.”

Martin looked surprised at that. “Oh. Oh, okay, thanks, JARVIS. Um. What’s the difference?”

“Level Alpha allows access to my systems,” said JARVIS. “If you wished, you could change the security levels themselves.”

Martin looked blown away. “Oh,” he croaked. “Okay.” There was a pause, then he shook his head. “Why would Tony give me that?” he muttered. “I wouldn’t have the first idea how to do it, even if I wanted to.”

“Mr Stark-Crieff didn’t specifically grant it,” said JARVIS. “The day after your wedding, he told me to change all your clearance levels to match his.”

Martin let out a long breath. “Right, of course he did,” he muttered, then rubbed his hands over his face.

“And then didn’t tell you,” said Jessie.

Martin shrugged at her. “He probably thought I’d freak out,” he said. “Or he forgot about it.” He went pink. “We, um. We were a bit distracted, the day after our wedding.”

“Really?” asked Jessie in a drawl, raising one eyebrow. “Let me guess. Clearing up Doombots?”

Martin’s blush darkened to a red and he cleared his throat. “Not quite.”

“Somehow, the rest of us ended up doing that,” said Hawkeye, coming out of the examination room with a patch of gauze taped over the cut on his forehead.

Martin sorted. “As I remember, you were so hungover that you stayed in bed almost as long as we did.”

Jessie thought back to the wedding. “You were really drunk,” she remembered. “You tried to swing on the lights and Black Widow had to restrain you.” The memory made it a lot easier to think of him as Clint.

A fondly nostalgic grin spread out on Clint’s face. “Good times.”

He sat down with them, apparently settling in to wait until Tony was allowed visitors, and Jessie wondered if she was superfluous to requirements now that Martin had a friend with him.

She’d said she’d stay with Martin, though, and she’d said it in front of Captain America. It was probably illegal to break a promise made in front of Captain America, right?

They mostly sat without talking, although Clint tried to keep up conversation as best he could. From the way he kept drifting into silence and leaning back against the wall, Jessie had a feeling his injury was worse than he’d let on. Or he was exhausted. If Jessie always felt like she needed a nap after an hour in the gym, she couldn’t imagine how tired you must get after fighting a super-powered cyborg for several hours.

Eventually, the medical staff started to filter out of Tony’s room, and Martin stood up. “Can I go in?” he asked, as the doctor came out.

She nodded. “He’s still asleep, but he should wake up in the next half an hour.” She fixed a stern look on Clint. “No dramatics, though. He needs his rest.”

Clint spread his hands and tried to look innocent. “Hey, I’ll be good.”

She looked skeptical, but stood aside to let them in. Jessie followed, still not sure if she was overstaying her welcome but, well. How often did you get to be in the inner circle of the Avengers? She’d just stay until she was sure Martin was okay, and then head off home.

Jessie had met Tony Stark-Crieff a handful of times, mostly at Eagle Tours social events, and he always seemed even larger than life than his press made him out to be. He grinned and cracked jokes and hovered over Martin as if there were a chance of Martin ever wandering off.

Seeing him unconscious and bruised, pale against the white hospital sheets, was a bit of a shock. He looked a lot smaller like that.

Martin rushed straight to his side, pressing a careful hand to Tony’s cheek. “Tony,” he breathed. “Oh god, Tony.”

“He’ll be fine,” Clint reminded him.

“Yeah,” said Martin, not taking his eyes away from Tony’s face. “I just hate it when he gets hurt.”

Hawkeye sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed tiredly. “I hate it when any of us gets hurt.”

Martin didn’t look like he was going to move, so Jessie pulled over a chair for him to sit in. “Do you need anything?” she asked. “I mean, I don’t know where the nearest coffee machine is, but-”

But Martin pretty much always gravitated to coffee when he was upset, or worried, or tired, or...actually, he just gravitated towards coffee period.

“I’ll show you where it is,” said Clint. “Tony designed this part of the Tower, so there’s a coffee machine in pretty much every other room.”

She followed him out of the room, glancing back to see that Martin was now holding Tony’s hand as well as stroking gently over his head.

“Yeah, they can get pretty sickeningly adorable,” said Clint, as if she’d commented. “I mean, I probably don’t have a leg to stand on given how me and Bucky can get, but...Oh, hey, about that.”

“Yeah, I got it,” she said. “Don’t tell anyone if I want to live.”

Clint snorted as he gestured her into a room that looked something like a break room. “I’d like to say it’s not that serious, but Bucky gets pretty cagey about his privacy so, yeah. Basically.”

Jessie couldn’t imagine anything she wanted less than a pissed off Winter Soldier after her. She grimaced and nodded. “I wouldn’t anyway,” she said. “Your business is your business, right?”

Clint set the coffee machine working. “Right,” he agreed. “Somehow the press never seems to get that, though.”

Jessie had seen them come after Martin enough to know how true that was. Even if she hadn’t, she hated it enough when Pearl and Monika gossiped about her and Nick to go spreading someone else’s private life around.

They made coffee then headed back to Tony’s room, but before they went inside, Clint stopped her. She hesitated, then heard quiet voices talking inside.

“Spitfire, man, you’re such a beautiful sight to wake up to.”

“Don’t try and move, Tony, don’t- Stay still, you’re hurt.”

“Wanna kiss you, c’mere, Spitfire, don’t leave me-”

There was the soft sound of lips meeting, then Tony let out a contented sigh. “You’re the best.”

“Am I the best, or are the drugs you’re on the best?” asked Martin, sounding amused.

“Definitely you,” said Tony. “Well, maybe both. Man, it must have been bad if they’ve got me hooked up on the good stuff.”

Jessie could hear Martin’s shaky breath from the corridor. “It was pretty bad,” he said. “I hate watching you get hurt, Tony.”

“Hey, hey, no sad faces, I’m all okay,” said Tony. “I must be, or this place would be lousy with sad-faced Avengers.”

“Doctor Cho said you’ll be fine,” said Martin, but there was a note of doubt in his voice. “I’m just not very good at believing her until you’re starting to mend.”

“I’ll mend,” said Tony. “I always mend.” Jessie glanced at Clint, wondering how long they were going to be hovering out here with coffee in their hands. He seemed to take her thoughts from her face, because he started to move forwards, then Tony spoke again, and he hesitated. 

“Hey, you know what I always think about when I get hurt? I think about that first time, about you coming all the way over from Amsterdam with tulips and telling me that you wanted to be serious, and how it doesn’t matter how bad I get hurt, I know you’ll always be waiting at my bedside. That’s a nice thought.”

Right, okay, they probably shouldn’t go interrupting just yet. Jessie shifted her grip on the coffee and tried not to let out an irritated sigh.

“Do you know what I think about?” asked Martin. “Um, not when I’m hurt, because I don’t get hurt much, but when you get hurt and I have to sit and wait for someone to tell me how bad it is.”

“About how hot I look in a hospital gown?” suggested Tony, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“No,” said Martin, then hesitated. “Well, sometimes, but actually, I meant that I think about when you got tasered, and I thought I was going to lose you without you knowing I wanted to marry you. I think about how, no matter what happens, you already know exactly how much I love you, and how long I want us to be together.”

“The rest of our lives,” said Tony, with great satisfaction.

“Yeah,” agreed Martin. “So I’d appreciate it if you did your best to make sure that’s a good long time yet.”

“Sure thing,” said Tony, and then there was the sound of more kissing.

Apparently that was enough to kill Clint’s patience, because he cleared his throat very loudly. “We’re coming in now, and we’re bringing coffee. It would be nice not to be met with any sights that might psychologically scar us.”

“Oh, like you and Grandpa haven’t psychologically scarred us all before,” said Tony as Jessie followed Clint into the room. Martin was sat right on the edge of the bed, one hand clasped around Tony’s, but his eyes went straight to the coffee Jessie was holding.

“Grandpa?” she asked.

“He means Bucky,” said Clint, and cracked a wide grin. “Martin, please tell me you’ve told her all about your truly epic prank?”

Martin took the mug from Jessie and cradled it to his chest. “It hasn’t come up.”

“Oh no, that’s not happening,” said Tony. Now he was awake, he looked a bit less pale, but he was gripping onto Martin’s hand with a grip that looked like it probably hurt. “Martin here ran the best prank I’ve ever seen, everyone should hear about it.”

“It was your idea,” said Martin.

“It was your execution,” said Tony. “And it was fucking perfect. Clint agrees, yeah?”

“I really do,” said Clint. “Even though I should probably be on Bucky’s side of things given, you know, he’s the guy I’m fucking.”

Jessie settled into a chair with her own coffee. “Okay, tell me about it, then.”

****

It was an hour or two later when she finally got home, tired and really grateful that Nadine had told both her and Martin not to bother coming back in the next day. She pulled off her clothes and had a long shower, then curled up in bed with Netflix and Chinese take out, because she could be fucked if she was doing any proper cooking today.

She was halfway through the long, difficult task of picking something to watch when a text came through to her phone.

_Thanks for driving Martin today. If you ever need anything, let me know. T S-C._

She stared at it. An open-ended favour from Tony Stark-Crieff, wow. For a moment she was blown away with the implications and then, abruptly, she was insulted.

_I don’t need to be rewarded for helping out a friend,_ she sent back.

_I know. Offer still stands,_ came back almost immediately.

Jessie narrowed her eyes at her phone. Fine. _I could do with a private jet and a villa in the south of France,_ she replied.

She didn’t get a reply to that, which hopefully meant her point had been made. She settled back in with her noodles and clicked on a Netflix show almost at random.

The next morning, a delivery man brought her a parcel containing a model of a Learjet and a postcard of Nice. Jessie stared at them, and decided that trying to out-smartass Tony Stark-Crieff was probably a waste of time.


End file.
